


I'll Take Care of You

by captaindanger



Series: Femslash February Fem Trope Bingo 2015 [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaindanger/pseuds/captaindanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy gets sick and Angie takes care of her.</p>
<p>For the Femslash February Fem Trope Bingo Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Take Care of You

Peggy woke up in bed unable to breathe through her nose and feeling like she had a golf ball stuck in her throat. Groaning, she flipped herself onto her stomach and buried her face in soft pillow. A vague memory of Dooley coughing into his handkerchief came back to her from yesterday. Who knows how many others from the office were in the same situation as she was?

It was funny; Peggy was always so focused on not getting beaten or shot or captured by whatever enemy she was facing that day that she never seemed to worry about falling ill. She was never prone to ailment like Steve had been before the serum. In fact, she was very hearty for a child. When the Spanish influenza had ravaged England, many of the children in her neighborhood died, even Peggy’s older sister Elizabeth. Peggy had escaped without even a sore throat.

An intense wave of nausea suddenly gripped her and she made a mad dash for the toilet. Bile violently expelled itself from her body. She held it back but sick still clung to her hair, matting it. The smell of vomit permeated the room. After her stomach emptied itself out, she reached up to pull the chain and flush the lavatory. She was thankful to even have an inside toilet. In the house she’d grown up in, they had used a privy shared with two neighbors that required a trip outside whether it was raining or the middle of the night.

Peggy crawled back to bed on her hands and knees, not trusting her own feet. Blood was pounding through her brain, making her head feel achy and dizzy. Her throat burned even worse now and the bitter taste of bile stuck in her mouth. She burrowed under her quilt, cursing Chief Dooley and the entire SSR.

She had just begun to drift back to sleep when there was a knock at the door. Too weak to get up and answer it, Peggy called, “Nobody’s home.” The sound of keys rattled in the lock, and then the door was being thrown open by Miss Fry. She took one glance at Peggy bundled up and clucked her tongue.

“Oh, Miss Carter. Look at you.” For a second, Peggy thought Miss Fry was expressing pity, until she yanked the duvet from around her ears and said, “You’re all wrapped up like a babushka and it’s ruining your curls. I know how long it takes to set your hair, you don’t want to flatten them.” 

Peggy sighed. “Can I help you, Miss Fry?” she asked in a scratchy voice.

“Well, Carol heard you retching from next door and came to ask me to check on you. I hope you don’t plan on going anywhere today, unless you mean to get every other girl in the hotel sick.”

“But…” Peggy was cut off, her lungs betraying her as they seized in a coughing fit.

“No, I won’t hear of it, Miss Carter. Besides, you need a break. It’s not good for a woman’s constitution to be out of the house all of the time.” Miss Fry looked around the room, which Peggy would have cleaned if she had known the matron would be barging in, and sniffed. “Drink a lot of water and get some sleep,” she said. With that, she exited Peggy’s room. Peggy sighed in relief, grateful to be alone again. Not long after, she dozed off.

Peggy woke again to a gentle knock on the door. She tentatively swallowed. Her throat felt even worse. She thought back to the dream she’d been having: she was back in London, 1943, engaged to a boring, buck-toothed soldier stationed in France, working in an engine factory to pay her bills. All of a sudden sirens had gone off, and Peggy and the girls hadn’t had time to make it to the basement before the building erupted in fire and shrapnel. She was glad she had awoken when she did; she didn’t want to know how the dream ended.

Miss Fry had apparently not locked the door when she left because it creaked open and a brunette head poked through. “Hey, English,” whispered Angie. “Did I wake you?”

Peggy propped herself on her pillow and pushed her hair back groggily. “Don’t worry about it.” Angie stepped farther into the room and shut the door behind her.

“Yeesh, Peg. You’re looking crummy.” Peggy snorted. Angie was never one to beat around the bush. “Carol told me she heard you spewing this morning and I wanted to come check on you. How are you feeling?”

“About as good as I look.” Angie was in her waitress’ uniform, rumpled and with a coffee stain near the hem. “What time is it?” she asked Angie.

“Past nine.”

“PM?” Peggy asked in alarm.

“Yeah. Why?” 

Peggy groaned and flopped back down onto the mattress. “I never even called in sick.” She could imagine how that would go over with the men at the office; maybe they’d thought she’d quit. The anxious thoughts caused her coughing to start up again. Frustrated tears welled up in Peggy’s eyes and she threw her arm over her face in embarrassment. 

Angie came and sat gingerly on the side of the bed, a look of concern in her eyes. She put her hand to Peggy’s forehead and Peggy sniffled. Her cool skin felt like heaven. 

“Don’t get yourself worked up now.” Angie ran a hand through Peggy’s sweaty hair. “I’m going to take care of you.” Peggy looked into Angie’s caring eyes and her chest swelled with a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’ll be right back,” Angie said and she jumped up and skipped out of the room. Peggy watched her leave, thinking how cute it was how serious Angie got when she put her mind to something.

By the time Angie came back, Peggy was half-asleep. The sound of the door closing startled her, and she grunted, sitting up like she hadn’t nodded off. Angie appeared with a bowl and a mug on a tray, expertly holding it with the palm of her hand. “Order up!” she said with a bright smile and set the tray down on Peggy’s nightstand. The smell of broth made Peggy’s stomach gurgle. “Chicken noodle, made from scratch of course, and a cup of earl grey, no milk or sugar, just the way you like it.” 

Peggy wasn’t sure she could stomach anything even as light as soup and tea, but the eager look on Angie’s face made her reach over for the soup and the provided spoon. A tentative sip of the warm fluid made her moan with satisfaction. The heat soothed her throat and dulled the gnaw of hunger in her queasy stomach. She abandoned the spoon altogether and drank from the bowl like a cup. With a final slurp, she looked over the brim at Angie, who pressed a fist to her mouth to hide her smile. “D’you like it?” she asked with a suppressed laugh in her voice. Peggy simply nodded and collapsed back onto her pillow happily. 

Angie disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared with a cloth and a basin. She dipped the towel in and squeezed out the extra water. Mopping up the dried sweat on Peggy’s brow, she hummed a song Peggy didn’t recognize. Peggy felt that familiar feeling again, that same feeling she’d felt whenever Steve would shout out orders or sit under a lantern in camp while the last of the oil burned, sketching with a dwindling piece of charcoal. She gazed up at Angie, luxuriating in that feeling.

When Angie was done, she set the linen in the basin and began to unbutton her uniform. Peggy sputtered, the flash of Angie’s pink slip shooting straight down her spine and making her curl her toes. Angie didn’t seem embarrassed at all, tossing the dirty uniform toward the front door. She took pins out of her hair, setting them on the nightstand next to the tray, and climbed into bed next to Peggy. “Oh Angie, don’t, you’ll get sick too,” Peggy feebly objected.

“Hush. I want to make sure you’re okay tonight.” Angie snuggled up next her friend, and Peggy had to admit that she was comforted by the feel of another body pressed to hers. “Besides, I don’t get sick. I had the measles when I was kid and now I’m invincible,” Angie muttered, already sounding sleepy. Peggy hesitantly reached her hand up and ran it over Angie’s chocolate-brown curls. The girl purred like a kitten and nudged closer to Peggy’s shoulder. They fell asleep curled into each other. That night, Peggy didn’t have any nightmares of the war. Instead she dreamed of holding a beautiful girl’s hand.

She was able to go to work the next morning thankfully, leaving Angie in her bed, dropping a kiss to her forehead before she left. She still felt awful but one day off of work was enough. Dooley chastised her for missing work and the other agents prodded her about needing time off, but otherwise the day was productive. 

Opening the door to her rooms, she was surprised to see an Angie-shaped lump still under her blankets. She tried to close her door as quietly as possible but still managed to wake the sleeping girl, who peeked her head out from under the quilt and whimpered, “Peg? I think I’m sick.” Peggy chuckled to herself and let herself out of the room again to go make some chicken noodle soup.


End file.
